Welding for a Nimbler Generation: Sculptrobatics

I present to you a series of some of the most daring and difficult moves in competitive welding:

Our first maneuver is known as the One Handed Government Bend: The welder throws himself over the perilous spikes of his dragon sculpture, left leg splayed against the dragons head, right hand operating the trigger, left hand is placed cooly behind his back for added stylistic effect:

Our next maneuver is known as a Left Handed Quasimodo BuzzBox: here the welder squeezes himself into the tightest little ball, operating the trigger with his left hand and positioning the nozzle with his right:

This next Maneuver is known as Arc and Circumstance: a difficult contortion and balancing act, all the while concentrating on the sticky welding operation of Arc Welding (as opposed to the easier trigger based MIG) the left hand here is used as pivot and weld guide:

This maneuver is called the Brazen Recliner: A simple relaxed method thats more stylistic than practical:

And finally we have a great moment in welding history: The welder, aged 14 is seen here attempting the incredibly difficult Deep Freeze Splay Legged Chasm Extension.

The Dragon : Unleashed

Finally finished and installed; here is the first full shot of the Dragon:

More photos plus a movie coming soon. Also the owner of this dragon has started a naming competition amongst his friends and family... so I figured I'd extend the invitation to the general public. Any ideas what we should call it?

Joseph Merrick* The Elephant Man

I made this sculpture before I read the book because I was always fascinated by his grotesque features. Now having read his story it makes me realize how trivial my own personal problems are. We all have problems and to us they are going to be important no matter what, but some things help to really put perspective on it all. The elephant man was hideously deformed, well beyond the sculpture pictured above. For most of his life he was treated as a monster and spent many years locked in a room and displayed in sideshows as a circus freak. It wasn't until three years or so before his death that he finally had a place of his own (a renovated space in the back of a hospital). Despite his terrible deformities and his life of hardships he always displayed a very positive manner; he could not smile, yet he was perceivably happy for the little kindness he had seen.

Some love for the little guy.

New head on old shoulders.

I posted earlier about the anguish of Ugolino and how I made a sculpture based on him... however, as it turns out, I was unhappy with the pairing of his amalgamated-scrap body with the tediously rendered face. So I took his head off and put a different one on (if only life were that simple). For the moment Ugolino will simply be a bust; until I get around to sculpting a more detailed and fitting body, as well as a family to go along with him. But for now I present The Salvaged:

And now for something completely different

Until the new website is done (end of the month) I will be updating this blog with working shots and whatever else I can come up with (maybe even some old pieces that are yet to be unearthed from obscurity).

Inhale.

post-ponderance pondering what I should possibly ponder or (more probably) protracted procrastinations and meditations: Of pre-assemblage on my upcoming attempted proto-creation

Woah, wait, weird wordplay. My apologies for my frenetic chaotic and occasionally caustic case of contrived iambic clauses. It's a cause for much distress and discourse and I could probably teach a course, which would be (of course) about the crash course (from the most natural source) of the human sort, this discourse requires no retort or recourse or retweet (though I cringe at the cliche that that may one day be), about our adroit exploits wrought through blood sport as opined by yours truly: Me.

Again I cringe as there is still the contrived tinge of a voice which has been reared from earth singed with terse verse ( and the occasional drinking binge), as well as artistic visages that smile with self ascribed eminence who fail to bestow the worthwhile tenants to those 'neath their tutelage and only instill a voice which is resonant with their own scent of resentment (I wonder if it's clear here, just what I'm getting at), and I'm betting that most of them don't even know it yet.

I live lost in our meca-era. I say fuck Richard Serra, I prefer the wisdom of Caswell Berry and Steve Berra. Whats missing is mystery. If you don't know those people than you'll Google them quickly and, perchance, contort your face sickly (cause wisdom on wheels is like getting slipped a mickey). I wish (washily) to live amongst the reeds and plant seeds instead of subscribing to RSS feeds. To attend to needs that have escaped us (or simply scraped us) and have been tossed in the wind, like so many weeds; whose fate (to be doomed) has been deemed by the popular populace who thinks their thorns are obscene. This I scorn like the coming of morning, interrupting my dreams.

Again, once more, as before; I despise my own contrivances that I constantly find burning the surface of mine minds open mindedness (I'm constantly reminded of this). It makes me remiss; no, it makes me pissed, that I can talk like this, that I can balk and squawk like this, occasionally walk as such, with bravado that's motto is: Push come to shove. What happened to life and what happened to love. Where's my proverbial olive branch and turtle dove?

(Exhale.)